


Bruges

by sacredneverland



Category: WTFock | Skam (Belgium)
Genre: Fluff, Kissing and cuddling, M/M, Milan Zoë Robbe and Senne, Sander is the son of the head chef, Smut (eventual), They’re on a trip to Bruges, nothing to heavy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-02-01 03:16:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21352945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sacredneverland/pseuds/sacredneverland
Summary: Milan buys them all tickets to Bruges, and after adjusting their schedules, Zoë, Senne, Milan, and Robbe all go. During their trip, however, Robbe comes into contact with the head chef’s son, Sander, who thinks that the boy should make the most of his time in the town.
Relationships: Robbe Ijzermans/Sander Driesen, Sander Driesen/Robbe IJzermans, Zoë Loockx/Senne De Smet
Comments: 2
Kudos: 40





	Bruges

**Author's Note:**

> there is a lot of angst here so let’s have an au, ayyyee.
> 
> (also, this is unedited so i will come back to fix some stuff later, right now, bed time)

“Robbe! Make sure to place my shampoo in the right place!”

“Okay, Milan!” Robbe replies irritated, exhausted by how many times Milan has told him to do the same action over and over again, as if Robbe has forgotten it after ever seven second increment that follows his request. Lugging the suitcases down the hallway, carrying his traveling backpack as well as Milan’s carryon bag and suitcase, which he assumes is filled with face and hair care products. Whatever it is, it causes the bags to be heavier than they should be, putting on unnecessary strain on Robbe’s shoulders. Either he needs to work out or Milan needs to seriously reconsider bringing three types of conditioner.

When he reaches the hotel room he is sharing with Milan, he looks over to the hotel room next to theirs, watching Senne place a heavy bad onto their queen-size bed before sighing. At that moment, he turns his head and his eyes directly catch Robbe’s. For a second, they both have a mutual nod of understanding, solidarity as Robbe weakly tries to move Milan’s suitcase as a gesture. Senne smiles at him, shrugging towards what he presumes is Zoe’s suitcase before shaking his head.

“It’s only for a week.”

“It’s only for a week.” Robbe agrees before chuckling at him, nodding his head as an end to their small conversation before he continues to finish the task in front of him.

He’s glad of that, having a connection and relationship with Senne, something he never would have fathomed he would have. Living in the apartment together, eating together, watching Elite together—which he was surprised Senne liked--, stressing over university and high school together, waking up hungover together so that they can both take Advil and mutually regret the previous night’s choices while simultaneously planning to do the same thing that night, it is something he never expected to happen. Actually, he never expected to have that kind of relationship with any of his flat mates, but the longer they lived together, the more and more like a family they’ve become.

He decides that he won’t even attempt to place Milan’s bag on his bed and ends up falling tiredly into his, letting out an exhausted exhale as his muscles finally relax and his legs and arms get a strain from walking across a long hallway with 30 pounds of weight on them. When Milan had come rushing into the living room with four train tickets to Bruges in his hand, Robbe didn’t know how to react, other than utter confusion, but after a big of confused discussion, planning, and shifting schedules—“Bro, what do you mean you can’t film a vlog next week?” “Well, I’m going to fucking Bruges—“ “Dude! Vlog it!” “Aaron, give me back the phone!”—they all finally packed their bags—or suitcases, in some cases—and took the metro to Bruges.

And, well, Robbe has to admit, it’s nice. As they walked to their hotel, he couldn’t take his eyes off the canals and old buildings, people and little shops, and as much as the trip was impulsive and abrupt, he thinks he’s going to enjoy it.

“Did you put my shampoo in the right place?” Robbe groans as Milan’s voice cuts through the peaceful silence, lazily sitting up from his lying position and looking up at him blankly, slouching as he replies to Milan’s question with a deadpan. Milan raises an eyebrow as if to ask him again; Robbe gestures to the unopened suitcase on the other bed. “Gosh, Robbe, come on.” He says in faux irritation, but his face immediately turns up with a smile and Milan walks Robbe and plops himself next to him. He leans his head on Robbe’s shoulder and forces both of them to fall back until they are leaning against the cream and red stripped wall behind them, and Robbe, familiar to this closeness, comfortable with it now, allows Milan’s head to rest their as they tiredly look around the room. Well, more Milan, Robbe is very close to passing out. “So, a week in Bruges.”

“Which is why I don’t understand your need to bring so much stuff.” He replies dryly, receiving a chuckle from Milan in response. He can feel him shake his head slightly on his shoulder and Robbe doesn’t let himself smile externally, but both him and Milan know that he is amused as well. He doesn’t have to show it at this point.

“It’s all very necessary.”

“You brought three conditioners, Milan.”

“You and Senne don’t condition your hair enough.”

Rolling his eyes, Robbe weakly attempts to push Milan off his shoulder, in which Milan weakly attempts to restrain, but neither of them have the vigor to properly complete the act, so they just lamely flailed for a few seconds before leaning for of their weight against the wall.

“I’m hungry.” Milan complains, dragging out the last consonant in emphasis, to which Robbe faintly agreed with.

“There’s a food court down stairs, I think.” He informs, to which Milan hums before digging more of his head into Robbe’s shoulder.

“We should call.” Milan suggests, instead, and Robbe isn’t in any way upset with the idea, especially his now sore limbs.

“Okay.” He hums, and then waits.

“…I don’t want to get up and get the phone.”

“Milan!” Robbe groans, tilting his head back onto the wall, and Milan groans as well.

“Its so farrrr.”

“Get up, dude!” Robbe retorts tiredly, although he doesn’t want to get up himself. But, he did carry all his and Milan’s luggage up himself so he has already contributed his part tonight. However, Milan is Milan.

“Robbeee! I paid for the tickets.” This is the third time he’s used that excuse today. “Please call room service!”

Letting out a final groan, Robbe abruptly stands up, much to the dismay of his sore legs. However, it was worth it to see Milan roughly fall over on the bed, glaring up at Robbe who does not feel sympathetic whatsoever. Dragging his body across the floor, Robbe reaches the cabinet-tv-stand in the middle of their hotel room and reaches for the phone, digging around the area until he finds a small folded card that came with the key card, listing all the service numbers of the hotel. His eyes quickly scan the card until it lands on “room service”, punching in the numbers before bringing the phone up to his ear.

“Get me fries and mussels!” Robbe rolls his eyes at Milan and continues to wait at the phone.

One ring, two rings, three ring—

“Hello, this is the shittiest hotel in Bruges, how may I help you?”

_Huh?_

“Sander! Sander get off the phone!” He hears a distant voice scream this, a deeper voice than the one who spoke to him just now, although he is going to presume that both of them are male.

_What was that?_

“Pa, I’m working.” He hears the first voice reply, and Robbe comprehends the smug and playfulness in his tone quite easily, not knowing if he should hang up and call back later or just continue with his order.

“Ah, may I order—“

“Sander! Give me the phone, now!” Robbe can hear grunting, than faint arguing, and grunting again before the deeper male voice is clearer on the phone. “I’m sorry, so sorry about that. That was my son—ah, w-what would you like.” From his uneven voice, Robbe could tell that the man is disheveled, probably from arguing with who Robbe presumes is the man’s son, and Robbe doesn’t know how to respond to that conversation so he chooses not to acknowledge it.

“Um, mussels and fries, and a croquettes, please.”

“Of course, sir. What room number are you sir, and what is your name?”

“Um, room number 215 and..Robbe.”

“Alright, sir. It will be up there in around 45 minutes.”

Saying a quick thank you, Robbe hangs up the phone and turns around to Milan awkwardly, who is now laying adjacent to the pillows of the bed and scrolling through his phone. He looks up at the lack of silence and gestures his head up at Robbe.

“Did you order?”

“Ahh, yeah.”

“How long will it take?” Milan asks, folding over and kicking his feet so they are laying on the pillows and hes lying stomach flat on Robbe’s bed, chin on top of his arms. God, Robbe’s going to make sure he switches the pillows before he goes to sleep.

“Forty-five minutes.” Robbe replies, deciding to fall onto Milan’s bed instead, placing his feet on top of the suitcase as he lies down, not caring if Milan complains. Milan complains, of course, but not because of the feet, but because of how long it will take for the food to be here, which Robbe can fully agree with.

——

“Robbe, do you wanna watch the next episode now?”

“I thought you weren’t caught up?” Robbe asks, pausing the episode of Elite so he can look over at Milan, who has still taken stop at Robbe’s bed while he is in Milan’s. Whatever, he’ll just sleep here tonight then.

“I watched it when you were asleep. I’m caught up. Ander is cute.” Milan comments, hugging the pillow closer to his chest as he stares at the male character that the screen has paused on. Robbe rolls his eyes at this, but silently, he agrees. He won’t admit it to Milan, who will take this opportunity to make it into a gateway discussion to Robbe’s love life. Not today.

“Whatever. So, next episode?”

Suddenly, both Milan and Robbe jump at the sharp bang that comes from their hotel door, Milan hugging the pillow tighter to his chest while Robbe brings in his two arms. Both of them freeze in place, and when another sharp knock comes in, they are both somewhat prepared for it.

“Yoo-hoo! Hello! Robbe? I have your weird mussels and fries. Which, by the way, who the fuck orders that?” Milan scoffs in offense to that comment while Robbe tries to decipher that voice, recognizing it as the first one he had heard when he called room service. The son, he thinks.

Slowly standing up, Robbe makes his way towards the door, wrapping his hand around the handle before slowly twisting it, pulling back once he hears the clicking sound of the latch releasing. He pulls back the door only a few inches and peeks his head through, and what he sees, well, fuck.

The first thing his eyes fall onto is the bright, platinum hair, short and shaped, contrasting the tan skin of the person’s forehead. Then, he acknowledges how he had to tilt his head up to see this, and he allows his eyes to fall down until they reach a pair of green ones, a light green, no—almost gradient. His eyes fall down to his pink lips, sharp chin and jaw, his Pink Floyd shirt, pants, and then, realizing that he’s roaming this guy’s physique, Robbe’s eyes shoot up in embarrassment, finding them back onto the guys face.

The guy, surprisingly, is staring back at him, mouth slightly agape as he looks at Robbe, and at that moment, neither of them seem to know what to do. Thankfully, Milan did, however, his voice echoing throughout the whole hotel room and spilling into the hallway.

“Robbe! Food! Now! I’m hungry and Andre is too cute to be left on pause.” Flinching slightly at the abrupt sound, Robbe breaks out of his trance and looks down at the two plates of food on the rolling tray in front of him. He looks up at the boy once again, who hasn’t moved his gaze, before looking down at the plates once more, and deciding that keeping them there may be the best choice to make.

“Umm, is that the food?”

He hears a soft exhale followed by a chuckle.

“If you think mussels and fries are a well-balanced meal, you’re wrong.” Robbe had heard the smugness in the boy’s voice over the phone, but connecting the tone to the facial expressions, the smirk and furrowing of brows, it shouldn’t affect Robbe as much as it does.

Maybe it’s because of the boy himself—

“I—those are for my friend. I-I got the croquets.” Robbe clears, attempting to keep his voice as steady as possible, which he partially succeeds in. However, the boy doesn’t seem to acknowledge it, which he is grateful for.

“Oh, so you got the croquettes?” The boy asks, placing his weight on the rolling tray slightly, causing it to move forward slightly. Robbe inches back in instinct, but the boy doesn’t seem to fully acknowledge this. Or, maybe he does, Robbe seeing him shift his weight back slowly as he waits for Robbe’s response.

“Ahh, yes.” Robbe says, trying out a small friendly smile. The boy scoffs at him, and Robbe doesn’t know if he should take offense to that or not, so he decides to just stare up at him with a confused smile.

“Wow, okay. Want me to tell you a secret?” he pauses but doesn’t really wait for Robbe to response, continuing to talk anyways. “The croquettes here, they’re shit.” Robbe’s eyebrows shoot up at this, looking down at the plates of covered food below him.

“Oh? Really?” Robbe says weakly, looking back up at the boy, who is smiling at Robbe with a confident expression.

“Trust me, I make better croquettes than this.” The boy rolls his shoulders back. “Dare I say, they are the best croquets ever.”

“Oh?” Robbe asks, teasingly raising the question, finding the boy’s confident tone amusing yet endearing.

“Yup.” The boy nodded, looking down at Robbe and then the food before going back to Robbe. “If I tasted them, you’d agree too.”

“Would I?” Robbe chuckles, smiling up the silver-haired boy, who now is looking down at him with less of a teasing expression and more welcoming.

“Yeah,” the boy’s voice is soft, “you would.” And Robbe doesn’t know how to react to the softness in the boy’s eyes.

Both of them, freezing in place, let their eyes star back at each other, green mixing with hazel-brown, and Robbe doesn’t know how long they will stand—

“Robbe! I’m hungry!” Never mind.

“Ah, okay, thank you.” He quickly grabs both of the plates, so quickly that he almost drops the plates, which causes both him and the boy to reach to balance him. However, Robbe stabilizes himself, pulling back into the room with two, now unmoving, plates in his hands. He gives the boy a curt nod, to which he replies with a soft smirk and Robbe quickly uses his foot to kick the door closed.

“Who was that?” Milan asks as Robbe places his food in front of him, hungrily lifting up the lid so he can get to his long awaited mussels and fries. Robbe has to admit, it’s a weird combination.

“Ahh, the room service guy.” Robbe replies plainly, sitting down with his legs crossed on the bed so he can place the plate on his lap and take off the lid. The croquettes don’t look too bad.

“You were there for a while. Was he cute?” He can hear the teasing in Milan’s voice, but Robbe’s mind immediately flies to the boy’s silver hair and green eyes, and internally he screams “Yeah, he is!” but externally scoffs around his croquet mid-bite, rolling his eyes as he grabs the remote and unpauses the episode of Elite.

“Shut up and watch Ander be cute.” He says, words muffled around the croquet bread.


End file.
